Fine. I’ll Comb It.

Who wants to hear a ridiculously pointless story?! Ah well, it’s not ridiculously pointless. Ah well, it actually is. Maybe not completely pointless. To one person. Probably just the one. Probably. Although if you are one of the many people who have ever felt the need to insist I should comb my hair, maybe you might find it of note. Probably. Not. Thing is. I just remembered. How big a combed head I used to be. Immaculate parting. Straight as an arrow. Splitting hairs. Like a landing strip. White line down the centre of my head. Nicely tanned during the summer. Brazilian. Or whichever one that is. Perfect divide. No stragglers. East. West. A combing king. King Combs! Bit of Brylcreem. Followed by a quick flick of a brush. Either side of the Berlin Wall. Little bit of a fringe. Check in the mirror. And. I. Was. Dancing!

Oh. My. Gee. What Happened Then?!

And then. One day. I remember it well. Playing pool. With a buddy from my soccer team. Both on black. Who will win the honours for the day. Pop. Champione. Thank you. You owe me 5 of your shiniest shillings, I do believe. I am great. You could’ve been. Didn’t appreciate my gloating. Sore loser. But a big man. Got me in a headlock. Ruffle. Tuffle. Tussle. Out of the head lock. The kingdom. Not so perfect anymore. Messed up. Girl happened to be walking past our table. Remarked. Nice hair. Like what you’ve done. Odd, yet interesting. Subconsciously. Must’ve stuck. May have been the moment when a little bird flew into my hair. The fro. Began. To flow. Comb. You are ditched. Brylcreem. You too. I will see ye both when I’m a Granddad. Until then. Bird’s nest on!

Pre-tty pointless to be true. Unless you’re that one person. Me. Otherwise. Apologies. Although, it does tie in with what I’ve been doing for the past few days. Combing. The finest of fine combing. Searching for lice. One of those combs. Final edit of the book. Final stretch. Final few yards. Fine combing, word for word. And I mean word for word, all 75, 000 of them. Give or take two. Is it fine? Is that fine? How about that sentence? Does that work with this? Maybe not. But if I fine tune that slightly, it’ll be fine. Give or take having a brain that likes to think things over. At least sometimes it does. Thinking about each word. Word. For. Word. Thought behind each one. Too much detail. Attention deficit. Mixed with attention to detail. Nice little cocktail.

My Thoughts Exactly

Thing is, I thought initially that this would be the easiest part. The quickest part. Tidy it up. Straighten its tie. Sweep around the edges. Good to go. However, thinking about each word, that’s a lot of thoughts. 75, 000 words. 75, 000 thoughts. Numbers don’t really evoke images. So I imagined each thought as a person. Tiny little people. Enough to fill a stadium. Old Trafford. All these people. Running around my head. Looking for their seat. Needing to check each one to see if they’re in the right seat. And if you change one thought, it might trigger off a thousand more thoughts. Back and forth. Over and back. Which is why it is taking longer than I thought. 75, 001. Some people changing seats. Kicking others out. Disgruntled. Not want to give up their seats. Want to stay. In. out. Security. Sorting them out. New thoughts brought in. Fresher thoughts. Better fit. Now. Looking good. That was worth it.

Here’s one example. Take this randomly made-up sentence… ‘After the day I had, I then realized that the sheets I bought did not even fit my bed, which was just great work again by me.’ Obviously that’s not in the book or anything. Obviously. Just an example. Which was wrecking my head. Needed to get it tighter. Think, edit, think, re-write, edit, think, thoughts, think. And eventually… ‘My bed? Fit for a king. My sheets? Fit a queen! Wehooooo!!!’ Obviously not used in the book. Quite the crap book if it was, to be true. First one is fine. Second reads better. I think so anyways. 75, 002. Part I brooded over like a pregnant woman… A) Fit for a queen. B) Fit a queen. Leave in ‘for’? Cut her loose? Culled. Which triggered off a few other changes in the paragraph before. And again in a paragraph about 17, 000 words later. Seriously. One person gets kicked out. Riots kick off. Landslides. Ricochets. Fine combing!

Wired

Something happened the other night which I thought would help. Or hinder me less at least. Reason there hasn’t been a blogaruu in a few days. Mysteriously. A sign from God, perhaps. Telling me to sit down, write on. Wireless down, internet gone. Out of the blue. Even though everything was green. Looked in order. Which was even more frustrating. Making me like a crack head who just got his supply cut off. Just one quick hit. Need to check the soccer results. Or the line-ups for a game. Some form of procrastinating. Page cannot load. Why not? Why. Not?!!! One might think that not having the internet is actually good when you have so much work to do. One would think. If one wasn’t dumb. Far more distracting, not having it. Or not knowing why you don’t have it, can’t fix it. Driving yourself to where nuts are made. Repeatedly pressing the same button. Over and over. In some odd hope it will suddenly work this time. Insanity. I think Albert called it.

In the end it focused me big time on l’edit. Getting there. Slowly but surely. Final edit. Surely. I hope. And pray. Seeing as I need to get it finished. Plethora of reasons. Sanity. Life. Living. Stories. Fun. Funds. Next stage of the plan. Way too many reasons! Remember back in the day when I had good stories?! Weird acting folk. Celebrity mishaps. Confusion. Nazis. Strippers. Buckets?! All that fun stuff?! Remember that. Need that back. Although at least I went back playing fussball up in Robbie’s again tonight. Test out the toe. Test out what it’s like being amongst groups of people. Mighty. Banter with the lads. Mr Williams politely telling me I look like s**t. Get out of the cave. Fussball on. With the obligatory photo shoot going on in the clubhouse behind us. Presenter from X Factor I think. Not sure really. Too busy getting megged. Go on the LA!

Bow Time

Oh yeah, I knew there was a point to my first pointless story. Another important reason that I need to finally finish up my book soon. Really important. Finish the book. Celebrate. One of the ways… Get a haircut! Mental celebrations are planned. Completely mental. One of those stupid ‘I’m not going to cut my hair until I finish my book!’ deals, one makes with themselves. And you see, not completely pointless. No. Just ridiculously so. Song on…

Stylo (Alex Metric Remix) – Gorillaz

Tags: 5-A-Side, Combing, Editing, Gibberish, Gorillaz, Haircut, Mental Issues, Pointless, soccer, Stylo (Alex Metric Remix), Writing